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Amazingly, no country in all of this. Dunno how depressing or lonely all of these will seem in text form 'though.

For No One, The Beatles wrote:The day breaks, your mind achesYou find that all her words of kindness linger onWhen she no longer needs you

She wakes up, she makes upShe takes her time and doesn't feel she has to hurryShe no longer needs you

And in her eyes you see nothingNo sign of love behind the tearsCried for no oneA love that should have lasted years!

You want her, you need herAnd yet you don't believe her when she said her love is deadYou think she needs you

And in her eyes you see nothingNo sign of love behind the tearsCried for no oneA love that should have lasted years!

You stay home, she goes outShe says that long ago she knew someone but now he's goneShe doesn't need him

The day breaks, your mind achesThere will be times when all the things she says will fill your headYou won't forget her

And in her eyes you see nothingNo sign of love behind the tearsCried for no oneA love that should have lasted years!

Oddly, this one has a really happy tune.

The Wind That Shakes the Barley, Robert D. Joyce wrote:I sat within a valley greenSat there with my true loveAnd my fond heart strove to choose betweenThe old love and the new loveThe old for her, the new that madeMe think on Ireland dearlyWhile soft the wind blew down the gladeAnd shook the golden barley

Twas hard the mournful words to frameTo break the ties that bound usAh, but harder still to bear the shameOf foreign chains around usAnd so I said, "The mountain glenI'll seek at morning earlyAnd join the brave united men"While soft wind shook the barley

Twas sad I kissed away her tearsHer arms around me clingingWhen to my ears that fateful shotCome out the wildwood ringingThe bullet pierced my true love's breastIn life's young spring so earlyAnd there upon my breast she diedWhile soft wind shook the barley

I bore her to some mountain streamAnd many's the summer blossomI placed with branches soft and greenAbout her gore-stained bosomI wept and kissed her clay-cold corpseThen rushed o'er vale and valleyMy vengeance on the foe to wreakWhile soft wind shook the barley

Twas blood for blood without remorseI took at Oulart HollowI placed my true love's clay-cold corpseWhere mine full soon may followAround her grave I wondered drearNoon, night and morning earlyWith aching heart when e'er I hearThe wind that shakes the barley

This one has a pretty lively tune too: the Garryowen.

Mick Ryan's Lament, Tim O'Brien wrote:Well my name is Mick Ryan, I'm lyin stillIn a lonely spot near where I was killedBy a red man defending his native landIn the place that they call Little Big Horn

And I swear I did not see the ironyWhen I rode with the Seventh CavalryI thought that we fought for the land of the freeWhen we rode from Fort Lincoln that morning

And the band they played the GarryowenBrass was shining, flags a flowinI swear if I had only knownI'd have wished that I'd died back at Vicksburg

For my brother and me, we had barely escapedFrom the hell that was Ireland in forty eightTwo angry young lads who had learned how to hateBut we loved the idea of Amerikay

And we cursed our cousins who fought and bledIn their bloody coats of bloody redThe sun never sets on the bloody deadOf those who have chosen an empire

But we'd find a better life somehowIn the land where no man has to bowIt seemed right then and it seems right nowThat Paddy he died for the union

Ah, but Michael he somehow got turned aroundHe had stolen the dream that he thought he'd foundNow I never will see that holy groundFor I turned into something I hated

And I'm haunted by the GarryowenDrums a beating, bugles blowin'I swear if I had only knownI'd lie with my brother in Vicksburg

And the band they played that GarryowenBrass was shin, flags a flowin'I swear if I had only known, I'd lie withmy brother at Vicksburg

Stay, Jorane wrote: In the dark corner of the room, I seeAnother part of you and all throughAnd all through these house I walk, I see youAnd all through this world I see you

Now that you're gone and even though it's hard to sayI know that we'll be home together somewhere, someday

I'm running through and forest of youAnd the traffic swells around my feetI'm spinning through a forest of youAnd your laughter spills into the street

Now that you're gone and even though it's hard to sayI know that we'll be old together somewhere, someday

In the dark corner of the room, I seeAnother part of you I see throughBut I don't care I take every part of you, I don't care

Now that you're gone and even though it's hard to sayI know that we'll be old together somewhere, someday

Now that you're gone, it's hard to sayThat would be whole together somewhere, someday

In the dark of the room, i seeAnother part of you

And I stay

Drunken Boat, Pogues. wrote:The wind was whipping shingle through the windows in the townA hail of stones across the roof, the slates came raining downA blade of light upon the spit came sweeping through the roarWith me head inise a barrel and me leg screwed in the floor

Mother pack me bags because I'm off to foreign partsDon't ask me where I'm going 'cause I'm sure it's off the chartsI'll pin your likeness on the wall right buy my sleeping headI'll send you cards and letters so you'll know that I'm not dead

By this time in a week I should be far away from homeTrailing fingers through the phospor or asleep in flowers of foamFrom Macao to Acapulco from Havana to SevilleWe'll see monoliths and bridges and the Christ up on the hill

An aria with the Russians at the piano in the barWith icefloes through the window we raised glasses to the CzarWe squared off on a dockside with a coupled hundred FinnsAnd we dallied in the 'dilly and we stoaked ourselves in gin

Now the only deck I'd want to walkAre the stalks of corn beneath my feetAnd the only sea I want to sailIs the darkned pond in the scented duskWhere a kid crouced full of sadnessLets his boat go drifting outInto the evening sun

We sailed through constellations and were rutted by the stormI crumpled under cudgel blows and finally came ashoreI spent the next two years or more just staring at the wallWe went to sea to see the world and what d'you think we saw?

If we turned the table upside down and sailed around the bedClamped knives between our teeth and tied bandannas round our headsWith the wainscot our horizon and the ceiling as the skyYou'd not expect that anyone would go and fucking die

Now the only deck I'd want to walkAre the stalks of corn beneath my feetAnd the only sea I want to sailIs the darkned pond in the scented duskWhere a kid crouced full of sadnessLets his boat go drifting outInto the evening sun

At nights we passed the bottle round and drank to our lost friendsWe lay alone upon our bunks and prayed that this would endA wall of moving shadows with rows of swinging keysWe dreamed that whole Leviathans lay rotting in the weeds

Ther's a sound that comes from miles away if you lean your head to hearA ship's bell rings on board a wreck where the air is still and clearAnd up above it means another angel's got his wingsBut all below it signifies is a ship's gone in the drink

Now the only deck I'd want to walkAre the stalks of corn beneath my feetAnd the only sea I want to sailIs the darkned pond in the scented duskWhere a kid crouced full of sadnessLets his boat go drifting outInto the evening sun

Uh. Strong liberal bias on the following songs.

Deportees (Wreck Over Los Gatos Canyon), Woody Guthrie. wrote:The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,The oranges piled in their creosote dumps2;They're flying 'em back to the Mexican borderTo pay all their money to wade back again

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,All they will call you will be "deportees"

My father's own father, he waded that river,They took all the money he made in his life;My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,And they rode the truck till they took down and died.

Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,Our work contract's out and we have to move on;Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,All they will call you will be "deportees"

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?The radio says, "They are just deportees"

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoilAnd be called by no name except "deportees"?

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,All they will call you will be "deportees"

Found this additional verse online:

We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,We died in your valleys and died on your plains.We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,Both sides of the river, we died just the same.

Che Guevara T-Shirt, Shindell Richard wrote:Unburdened of their passengersThe taxis have all scatteredThe hawkers move their tables outThey’ll be selling no more leatherThe Oslo Queen is set to sailFrom the Port of Buenos AiresThe ropes are thrown and the big horn moansAs she slips out of the harbor

The stowaway is keeping stillIn the dark of his containerWith his blanket and his flashlightAnd a picture of his sweetheartHe’s rationing his batteriesBut right now he can’t resist herStanding there with her long brown hairIn that Che Guevara t-shirt

As the contents of his wallet showHis plan’s a little sketchyThree hundred bucks and the bad addressOf a cousin in MiamiIn a couple months with a little luckHe’ll be wiring home some moneyAnd even if they send him backIt’ll make a damn good story

Late at night he ventures outEach time a little fartherEmboldened by his wanderlustHis boredom, and his hungerTil he’s standing out on the open deckSearching for La Cruz del SurBut by-and-by the sky he knowsHas yielded to another

The moon shines on the shipping lanesOff the coast of VenezuelaAnd as he looks out at the oilersRiding heavy up to TexasHe sings a little to himselfLuna, luna, luna llenaWhile the moon, a word he’s yet to learn,Betrays him to the cameras

Now he’s somewhere in Dade CountyAnd six weeks without a lawyerOn the basis of the evidenceThey could keep him there foreverThe guy with the cuban accent says“Do you recognize this picture?”And there she is with her long brown hairAnd that Che Guevara t-shirt

I could probably come up with a couple more, but I'll stop here for now.

"Yeah, that's the bridge pier (expletive). I thought it was the center. Oh (expletive)." ~ From the transcript of the recording device on board the ship which struck the San Franciso Bay Bridge last year, causing a 50,000 gallon oil spill.